Journal Entry, February 25th, 2007

"There's a balloon in my tree. After a short adventure in space, it lost it's drive and allowed gravity to tug it slowly back down to Earth. And here it is now, limply swaying with the breeze, flowing through the oak's barren branches. At one time this balloon must've been a thoughtful touch to some child's birthday party, metallic letters shimmering from the glow of candles and the grins of party-goers. I don't know how this balloon began it's skyward adventure. It may have been the accidental absence of a loving grasp, or the will of a spontaneous wind. In any case, the balloon's journey may not be as important as the start and finish of it's life.
I discovered it's presence one night. The moon was full and as I waged war upon it, i saw a glimmer of light from the tree above me. I saw a glimmer of light from the tree above me. At this point it still contained helium. As the wind rustled the branches, the silver oval would turn, allowing the moonlight to reflect off of it. It was a while before I realized what I was seeing. My focus on the mystery object got the moon off the hook for the night. Now, the balloon looks rather wimpy with it's form, twisting and strewn around the smaller branches, just beginning to burst with growth. It's still chilly. Those branches will be naked for a few more weeks, and until then, that balloon will have to suffer. It didn't pick a great spot for landing. Though, it may like it up there, watching the neighborhood's ins and outs.
I recall another balloon, much less fortunate. It was an electric blue, star-shaped balloon resting on the bumpy ceiling of the gym. Yes, it still had some life to it, but it was and would forever be trapped up there beyond anyone's reach. When I saw it then, I wondered if it was happy up there, staring down on the rowdy kids who didn't really give a damn. I stared and sighed with the balloon during my class, cold, with my legs bare. I went home, wondering if it would rather be plucked from the ceiling and thrown in the trash, of if an exit to the sky would be more pleasurable. Would a tired balloon want to call it quits after being forgotten for so long? Would it rather remain in limbo, floating between all eventful things? Or, would it want to try it's luck in the air, floating free, despite it's past abandonment and the late hour of said adventure?
I regret telling my friends of my concerns. They didn't get it. "It's a stupid balloon, Kat." But it wasn't. It was our past, present, and future, the chosen end to their lives. And they wouldn't listen to it. Later, one would regret ignoring my passionate advance for understanding, but it was too late for him. He lost me in more ways that he realized.
That blue balloon was gone one day. I don't know if it was plucked down, or if it gingerly fell as the helium depreciated. But I hope it was pleased with it's end, and glad that it didn't have to be so near happiness, that it could never experience up on the ceiling.
However, the balloon in my tree has led a full life. It has adventured and flown all that it can. Maybe I'll manage to climb up the upper branches and rescue it, one day. Who knows? Maybe this is different. This time, beings that this balloon is outside, and can still feel the sun's warmth and the rain, removal may not be much of a favor. We shall see what time brings. Until the decision is made, I will send greetings to the ballon and remember the past one, as I stand out in the dark, yelling at the moon."